Shiver Me Typewriter
by JayCee's RedGold
Summary: When a college student is found murdered by the unlikeliest of weapons, Beckett and Castle must find out what he was working on that was worth killing for as the body count threatens to rise.
1. Teaser

**Title: **Shiver Me Typewriter  
**Setting:** Sometime before the end of season two. Meant as a standalone.

**Summary:** When a college student is found murdered by the unlikeliest of weapons, Beckett and Castle must find out what he was working on that was worth killing for as the body count threatens to rise.

**Note:** This was written after a discussion on the Red Vs Blue forum where one of the members mentioned that he would really like to see the 'musketoon' as the murder weapon. This is originally written in tv script format so a bit dialogue heavy, but I like dialogue, banter is so much fun!

**Teaser**

Why did he read the reviews? He knew that the moment he opened the newspaper he was simply asking for it. On one page he's a New York Times Bestseller, and on the next he's being harangued for his lack of… what? Seriously? He wrote books to entertain his fans, not bucking for the next great American novel.

Though, that was a thought…

"Dad!" his daughter pulled the paper down, shining her brightest smile at him, "did you sign the permission slip for the school trip yet?"

"Hhmmm," sometimes it was too easy to tease Alexis, "permission slip… permission slip?"

"I have to turn it today or I can't go on Friday," she pouted and he knew he couldn't win.

"You mean this permission slip," Castle pulled the crumpled piece of paper out from under his breakfast plate. "The one that wants to take you to that tawdry place of excess, depravity and overindulgence?"

"Found a time machine back to your teenage years, have we?" his mother glided into the kitchen, sniffing at what was left of the scrambled eggs he had made and, deciding better of them, went to the fridge.

"Depravity?" the writer really tried to sound shocked, "Okay, maybe a little."

Alexis snatched the slip from his hand, "I'm looking forward to this trip, going to a place where shouting at each other actually influences world politics and money."

"A Castle interested in finance," he gave her a little pinch on her cheek to tease her, "how boring but incredibly normal of you."

"Well," she grinned sheepishly, "one of us might get to ring the bell."

"Hah," he threw the paper down dramatically, "I knew there was an attention seeking megalomaniac in there somewhere trying to get out!"

"Funny," Martha deadpanned as she poured herself some orange juice, "I thought the same thing when you were born."

Castle narrowed his eyes at her, knowing he never could show any true malice towards anyone, especially his mother. He was saved from coming up with a witty retort by his cellphone going off, the word ESPOSITO emblazoned on it.

"Castle," he answered cheerfully, "half price sale, solve two murders for the price of one."

"Hey," the detective replied back quickly, "sent you an address, Beckett wants you to meet her there."

"Ooo, what's special about this one?" he was already on his feet, looking for his wallet and keys, but he had to pause as he wasn't sure if he heard his friend right. "Chunky salsa?"

""""

As Richard Castle entered the small apartment, it was a crime scene like most others. A policeman guarded the door, a few CSI techs where busy about doing whatever. The room itself was typical of a student, piles of papers and books stacked around. There was a tattered couch, dishes in the sink, lots of maps on the wall which was different.

"Woah," he stopped as he finally saw the focus of the investigation, "chunky salsa indeed."

"Told you he'd like that one," Lanie, the medical examiner, was squatted down next to the body, collecting evidence.

Though could he really call it a body? The head was there, mostly, and so was the legs, mostly, but the torso was nothing but a mash of flesh and organs, like a butchers shop had exploded in front of the sofa.

"Victim is Joshua Peritti," Beckett walked in from what he guessed was the bedroom of the apartment, "twenty eight years old, lives alone. Super found him when he came to fix a leaky faucet."

"That would explain the puke I had to step over in the hallway," now over the initial 'what the?' reaction, he ventured closer, trying to memorize every snapped sinew for future reference in a book. "What is that? Shotgun blast?"

"I've seen shotgun victims before, but this?" Lanie held up a bloody nail, old and bent with a piece of liver stuck to it. "Who loads a shotgun with nails, and the load doesn't look like standard buck or bird shot."

Castle was absolutely mesmerized by the concept… he could see the title now: _Nails to You_… no… _You've got Nail_… nah…

"Send it to ballistics," Beckett pulled him from his revere, "maybe they can figure it out."

Lanie slipped the nail into one of her evidence baggies, "His hands are just as shredded as his torso, I'm thinking he had them up in a defensive gesture."

Now that was interesting to Castle, "So he saw his attacker, knew it was coming."

"But no signs of forced entry," the detective added as her cell phone went off, "he let his killer in."

Since the brunette moved away to answer her phone, Castle turned back to the medical examiner, "Shotgun or no, that kind of damage would make a very loud bang."

"This building has a lot of student tenants," she informed him, "they were probably gone for the weekend, or passed out hung over. Preliminary TOD I put at sometime this morning, between two and seven."

"Can't be more exact?"

She tilted her head slightly and raised one eyebrow in annoyance, "You try taking a liver temp when the liver has been sliced and diced like yesterday's mystery meat."

Had to give her that one.

"That was Esposito," Beckett gestured with her phone as she walked back over, "victim has a sister, she's been notified on her way in."

""""

No matter how many times he had wrote this kind of scene, and actually sat in on one, it never got any easier.

"I can't believe he's gone," Linda Johnson, Joshua's sister, sat across from them in the lounge with tear stained cheeks, her husband's arms wrapped tightly around her, "I just talked to him on Tuesday."

"The…" Dominic Johnson choked slightly on his words, "the policeman said his body was severely damaged. Are you sure it was Josh?"

Though in pieces, Peritti had finally made it to the morgue, but until Lanie could clean things up, the mess wasn't something to inflict on the grief-stricken family.

"We'll confirm with a dental match," Beckett replied softly but strongly, she was good at that subtle mix Castle often noted to himself, "but most of his face was intact, enough to match to his driver's license."

"Oh god," the sister cried out but was quickly quieted by Dominic.

"I know you don't want to think about this right now," she pushed forward, "but I have to ask, do you know of any reason someone might want to hurt your brother?"

"No, he was a college student," the woman answered as if that statement alone absolved her brother of any and all wrong-doings.

"Was he into drugs," Beckett was good at not sounding accusatory, "or had a debt?"

"He was a good kid," Linda assured them, "he wasn't into any of that."

They really couldn't take her word for it, but there was no reason to assume she was straight out lying either.

"You spoke to your brother Tuesday?" Castle spoke into the silence that had fallen over them.

"Mostly I did the talking," Dominic replied, "Josh was going to come fishing off the coast  
of Maine with me next month, we were making plans."

Beckett picked up on the information before he did, "Did he sound worried at all or try to back out?"

"No," he shrugged, "he sounded happy. He said he was almost done with his thesis and the trip was going to be part celebration."

Curiosity got the better of the writer, "What was he studying, exactly?"

"Military history," Linda sighed and gained an all too familiar far-away look in her eyes, "he had wanted to go into the Navy like our father, but he got the bends when he was a kid, complications from it disqualified him from being able to join."

"He started out in engineering, building boats," the husband continued, "he's good at numbers and remembering things, but he got himself hooked on historical puzzle solving."

"What was his thesis about?" curiosity now got the better of Beckett, though Castle was sure she'd say something like any information could be useful information.

"Ah," the man paused, "the sinking of the… _Edmund Fitzgerald, _I think."

"The one that went down in Lake Superior without a word?" Castle rambled off before anyone else had a chance to speak. "All hands lost?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

""""

He had always wanted to write a story involving a ship wreck… but he couldn't come up with anything that wasn't _Cape Fear _and decided he should put that plot idea away in a drawer somewhere next to his one about the space cowboy.

"Didn't know you were a fan of the _Fitzgerald_," his muse asked him as they walked into the station room, unknowingly setting his mind again to the concept of a story never written.

"Bad weather, high waves, a ship holding its own against mother nature," he waved his hands with flair and pose, he hoped, "but within ten minutes, without a word it disappears into the deep. All hands lost, like it simply vanished."

He paused for dramatic effect but the brunette simply stared blankly at him.

"And to this day," he continued unperturbed, "they still argue on what drug it to the deep of a lake that has claimed thousands lives mysteriously. You can't make this stuff up."

At least that garnered a laugh, but he wasn't sure at what.

"Any word from ballistics on our murder weapon?" Beckett turned to Ryan who was seated at his desk across from his partner.

The man didn't bother putting down his bag and chips and handed her a file, "Can't be positive without the weapon to match, but the tech thinks it might have been a Musketoon."

"Musketoon?" Castle nudged his head over Beckett's shoulder to read the report, "That anything like a musketeer?"

It took the man a second to process that, "Ah, no, he said a Musketoon was like the original sawed off shotgun used by navy's and pirates in the 1800s. Some of the shot used on our vic was old and degraded, could be original. And apparently nails were used as filler in musketoons."

"He said it could be a blunderbuss though," Esposito chimed in.

"But more likely a Musketoon," Ryan shot back and Castle got the feeling that this wasn't the beginning of this discussion.

"Yeah, but "death from Musketoon"?" his partner laughed, "Sounds too much like "death from Mouseketeer"."

"Somehow," Beckett interrupted them, "I don't think that occurred to our victim when he was shot."

"So… our guy was into ships, and shipwrecks," Castle started to piece together all the information, "and was killed by a relic navel weapon. Oh!"

"No," the woman snapped warningly.

"Our murderer is a pirate and he shot our victim because he found where his buried treasure is!" he grinned, proud of himself. "Avast!"

"Castle!"

"What?" he shrunk back just a bit, "Too much Pirates of the Caribbean, not enough Robert Louis Stevenson?"

His muse stared blankly at him, again, it was a habit he found both funny and endearing, if not occasionally unnerving. Either way, she ignored him and turned to Esposito, "Didn't I see something in Peritti's phone records about a museum?"

It only took the man a moment to pull out the logs, "Yeah, twenty calls over the last month to the Maritime Industry Museum, Throggs Neck, New York." Without prompting, he opened a search engine and started to type away.

"That's local," Beckett said almost to herself, "and if it's a Maritime Museum, then I'm willing to bet they have a few relic firearms."

"A blunderbuss perhaps?" Castle added helpfully.

"Musketoon," said Ryan, but no one was listening.

"You might want to look at this," Esposito pointed to his screen, "It's their website."

As they all gathered around, a Cheshire grin started to form on the writer's face.

"Castle," she said the name slowly, "don't say a word."

The detective had brought up the website for the Museum in question, and there, on the front page, was a picture of their director: David Pendelcote. He was an older man, weathered face, very grandfatherly with his long beard and with a patch over his left eye.

"Aaarrrrrr…"


	2. Act I

**ACT I**

Took almost an hour to get to Throgs Neck with the traffic and the ride had been an interesting one with Castle in the passenger's seat. He kept going on about the next Pirates of the Caribbean movie. The only thing they could agree on was that Johnny Deep was indeed very hot.

It was the awkward moments that followed the conversation that made him both funny and slightly endearing to her. As insane as he could be, he was probably the most real person she'd ever met.

Their conversation turned back to the case once they got to the Museum, a large school bus taking up several spaces in the parking lot. The foyer was fitted to look like the deck of a merchant steam ship, complete with classic life preservers on the wall and a big anchor at the entrance, among other decorations.

A bunch of kids were being ushered through the forward bulkhead into the next part of the museum.

Kate walked around the stragglers to the information desk, flashing her badge at the older lady that welcomed them with a smile. "Like to speak with David Pendelcote please."

The lady's disposition faltered for moment, the police badge often did that to civilians. But she politely nodded, "One moment."

As the woman left, the detective could feel the school-boy giddiness build in her unlikely partner.

"But he has an eye patch and everything!" he blurted out in a hushed tone.

"How many times do I have to say it," she was going to shoot him, more than likely, one of these days, probably, "an eye patch does not a pirate make."

He looked at her in all seriousness, "Does he have to own a parrot too?"

"Yes!" she knew him too well and looked him point blank, "And you are not asking him if he has a parrot!"

Whatever Castle was going to reply back with was squashed as the Director walked up with an extended hand, "David Pendelcote, you wished to speak to me?"

"Mr Pendelcote," she shook the hand politely and made conscious effort to look him in his eye. "I'm Detective Kate Beckett, I'd like to ask you a few questions about Joshua Peritti."

"Josh," the smile faded from his lips, "is he okay?"

"I'm sorry," always hated this part, "but he's dead."

"Dead?" because they always asked it like it was question, like it was a mistake, "How?"

"Murdered, in his apartment," she pushed through, no reason to dwell on such things. "We have record of several phone calls made to this Museum, your office in particular, by Mr Peritti. How well did you know him?"

"Not extremely well," the older gentleman rubbed his forehead, his stance withered slightly, "he came here often to do his research, sometimes we'd chat about ships. He wanted access to our non-public archives. Normally they are off limits but he was such a nice young lad…"

"Did he leave any personal items here?" Kate questioned, "any research?"

"No," he shook his head, "brought his laptop and took it with him every time."

"Twenty phone calls in the past month?" Castle jumped into the conversation as he was apt to do, "That's a lot of access to the archives. How much information could you have on the _Edmund Fitzgerald_?"

That caused the man to stall and blink, "_Edmund Fitzgerald_? Why do you ask?"

"Peritti was doing his research paper over the shipwreck," Castle's statement almost sounded like a question to her ears.

"Oh," the director seemed confused, "he was doing a shipwreck alright, but of the _Washington Irving_."

"He told his family he was investigating the _Fitzgerald_," Kate spoke the thought aloud.

Pendelcote shrugged, "I never heard him mention it."

She exchanged a glance with Castle who shook his head, so she asked, "What was the _Washington Irving_?"

"A passenger ship that hit an oil barge and sunk in the North River," he explained. "Though he was more interested in its salvaging from what I gathered."

Could the brother-in-law have been mistaken, or maybe Peritti could link the two ships together somehow? Did his research even have anything to do with his death? Too many questions right now, she needed to start answering some of them and get them out of the way.

"Mr Pendelcote," the writer continued, "do you have any blunderbuss's or musketoon's in your museum?"

"We're an industrial museum," Pendelcote almost laughed, "you won't find pirate weapons on these ships."

Castle paused for a second, rocking just slightly on his feet before saying, "So no parrots then I take it?"

""""

Deciding that there was a distinct possibility that the college student's research could have something to do with his death seeing as no laptop was found and he was killed with a relic naval weapon, they decided to stop by the office of his advisor.

Kate expected to see ships-in-bottles, maps and maybe a fake porthole, but the office was instead decorated in Ancient artifacts all with writing that literally looked Greek to her.

"I admit I barely knew Mr Peritti," Professor Dobins was in his mid-40s she would estimate, a drab blue suit and a bad comb-over, "but it is always sad to hear of someone's untimely passing."

"Professor," Castle was standing, admiring a gladius that was hanging on the wall, "how did you become Joshua Peritti's advisor?"

"Last year, his old advisor, Professor Ketter, died in a boating accident off Cape Cod," the man answered with a sigh, "His students where shuffled around, the naval and maritime history ones were the most difficult. Ketter was the only one who had the expertise in the subject."

"How'd you get Mr Peritti?" Kate asked as she heard the ting of metal and a slight yelp from Castle. She didn't bother turning in her seat to look at him.

"By luck of the draw," he replied absently as he watched Castle si in the other seat, sucking his thumb. "I tried to help, but sometimes he knew more than I did when it came to the particulars of the subject area."

Kate still ignored the writer, she didn't want to encourage him, "You went over his thesis?"

"Of course," Dobins turned his attention back to her.

"Mind if we take a look at his thesis submission?" Call it a hunch, but she wanted to see what the connection was with the two ships.

"Well, I suppose it would be okay," the teacher hesitantly stood up, moving over to his filing cabinet. "He hadn't given me more than a prospective outline really."

"Just a prospective outline?" Castle finally joined the conversation after nursing his thumb, "We were under the impression he was almost done."

"That would be news to me," the professor pulled a file out of the cabinet and began to flip through it. "Here we go."

Pulling out three pieces of stapled paper, he passed it over to her, and it only took her a second to see something wrong. "He was researching the _Andrea Doria_?"

"Yes, he wanted to look into the accident," Dobins returned to his seat, "make a discussion about right-of-way navigation, or something along those lines. To be truthful I got lost in the maritime jargon."

Three ships, three different areas, "Did he ever mention the _Washington Irving _or _Edmund Fitzgerald_?"

"No," he dragged the word out, thinking on it, "don't believe so?"

"Do you know of anyone who might have a blunderbuss or musketoon?" she asked before Castle could.

The man gave her an odd look, like she had suddenly grown a second head.

Castle cleared his throat, "How about a parrot?"

""""

With nothing else to go on, Beckett needed to know what the ships had to do with his murder, or at least prove conclusively that they weren't connected at all.

"The few friends he had came up dead ends," Esposito said as he and his partner joined them in the conference room where Peritti's papers where strung across the table. "No ex's or love triangles. No one with access to a blunderbuss."

"Musketoon!" Ryan corrected.

"I suppose this could have been a crime of opportunity," Castle looked up from his pile of papers, "Maybe it was our victim who owned the blunderbuss."

"Musketoon!"

"It's possible," Kate nodded, "but nothing points to him ever owning a blunderbuss."

"Musketoon!"

"Not the kind of weapon that you buy off the back of a truck," Esposito agreed. "Excuse me, I'll have two semi-automatics, a 9mil, and oh, a blunderbuss."

"Musk-oh-for-the-love-of!" Ryan yelled out in exasperation, the three of them sharing a grin at the man's frustration.

"Why don't you try the local antique and memorabilia dealers," she made sure she didn't laugh, "they might remember selling any blunderbuss's... or musketoon's."

"Thank you," Ryan put his hands together and gave her a mock bow.

"Find anything here?" Esposito moved around the table to flip through a few of the papers.

"Not yet," she admitted, "but there had to be a reason he told everyone a different story about what he was doing."

"_Edmund Fitzgerald, Andrea Doria, Washington Irving,_" the writer mused, "Only common thread is they are ships that went down, but not in the same way, or same body of water."

"I don't know about you," the dark haired detective picked up a stack, "but most of this research seems like fluff. Basic numbers, facts, things I'd drag off the internet to get a quick passing grade in high school history, not for a master's degree."

"I agree," Castle stared intently at the papers laid out in front of him. "I do more research than this for my books."

She had to agree with both of them, still, "His laptop was missing, that could have the real research, or could explain what these wrecks had in common."

"Other than they're all famous wrecks?" Ryan added helpfully.

"Wait," Castle held up his hand as if he'd finally found something, "his brother in law said that Josh was almost done with his thesis, but he hadn't given anything to his advisor."

She considered that for a moment. "Maybe he thought Professor Dobins was too illiterate on the subject to advise?"

"And my editor couldn't write herself out of a paper bag," Castle laughed, "but she knows her story flow and character development and when it's lacking. If anything, Peritti should have asked his advisor to double check his referencing, cohesion, and resources."

"So either Peritti lied about almost being finished," she caught onto his train of thought, "or he didn't want his advisor to see what he was writing, or maybe he just doesn't have your outlook on editors?"

"Why would you hide your research from your advisor?" Ryan asked the obvious question.

"So we agree that something isn't right here," she pushed the research from her, "but we don't know what."

"Well," Esposito headed back towards the door, "we'll get on the shops in the morning, see if we can locate the… blunderbuss."

"Mus-ke-toon!"

"Bless you," Castle quipped.

"Alright," Kate nodded, ignoring them, a talent she was getting all too good at, "and I want to go back to the museum, maybe we can find something in the archives he was studying."

"I foresee many paper cuts in my future," the man frowned at her.

"You're a writer," she almost laughed, "isn't that an occupational hazard?"

"Yeah," he said in all seriousness, "but you try to explain that to IRS when you want to declare band-aids as a tax write-off."

""""

"So what do you think," Alexis got his attention and he peered over his book to see her holding up two outfits, "too professional and stuffy, or not professional enough?"

Why did the women in his life always ask him questions that, no matter what, he'd give the wrong answer to? Maybe that could be the motive in his next book. It was so obvious, no one saw it coming and the killer almost gets away with it, but it took a female detective, Nikki Heat, to see that this was truly a case of a woman whose jeans really did make her look fat?

Nah, would probably get him a lot of angry letters from the women's lib movements.

"Dad?"

"Yes," he covered his absentmindedness with well placed rub of his chin as he determined that the dress was too short, "go with the pants-suit."

She frowned at him, "Sure it doesn't make me look too much like Hilary Clinton?"

"Oh," he grimaced, "no, not at all!"

"Dress it is," with that she laid the clothes over the back of the sofa. "So, pirates huh?"

Instinctively he looked down at the title of the book he was reading, _The History of Pirates,_ "Trying to figure out if our victim was a pirate or killed by one."

"Well," his daughter plopped down on the sofa, careful not to wrinkle her outfits, "was there a black spot found at the crime scene?"

He grinned, "How many times did you end up watching _Muppet's Treasure Island_ when you were little?"

"…_And they sailed their ship across the ocean blue, a bloodthirsty captain and a cutthroat crew…_," she sung out and he laughed heartily, "…_It's as dark a tale as was ever told, of the lust for treasure and the love of gold_… _shiver my timbers, shiver my sails, dead men tell no tales!_"

As she continued into another song, he wondered what tale Peritti could have told?

""""

During the whole trip to the museum, Castle rambled off a bunch of facts and public misconceptions about Pirates that he learned while reading a book the night before. While it was interesting, it got them no closer to the truth.

The cop cars and coroner's van parked outside the museum didn't help her disposition much either.

Flashing her badge to get through the uniforms, they walked into the foyer of the building, the familiar face of Medical Examiner Sidney Perlmutter leaning over the body of David Pendelcote.

"Detective Beckett," she turned at the sound of her name and saw fellow detective, Roselyn Karpowski, approach. "What brings you to my crime scene?"

"The fact that your crime scene may be related to my crime scene," she replied in a neutral tone.

Karpowski nodded, "The one where the guy got all tore up like… what did Lanie say?"

"Chunky salsa?" Castle answered with a straight face.

"Yeah," the detective made a tisk sound, "nasty business that. And you think it's related?"

"Considering we spoke to Pendelcote yesterday about our victim," Kate glanced back over at the man, lying sprawled on his front, in the same suit they last saw him in, a massive wound at the back of his head. "Don't think it's a coincidence."

"Well," Perlmutter stood and gestured for his assistant to bring the body bag forward. "Nothing special about this one. BFT to the back of the head."

"Do you know with what?" Castle asked.

"Let me get my crystal ball," the M.E. held out his hand and gazed at it, "it says wait till I've had a chance to have a proper look at the wound in the lab."

"Your best guess?" Karpowski replied just as snarky.

"Then that would be a guess," he rolled his eyes, "but I'd say your typical long circular shaft ala baseball bat."

Kate's eyes gazed up the sides of the walls and the decorations, "An oar?"

"Possible," Perlmutter conceded, "but as I said, I'll put it all in my report."

"An oar," Castle mused, "how mundane, especially after using something as exotic as a blunderbuss."

"Musketoon," Kate found herself saying, then shook her head. "We're looking at crimes of opportunities then. If the weapon was already in Peritti's apartment, and the oar hanging as a decoration…"

"But we don't know if the blunderbuss was already in the apartment," he pointed out the flaw that couldn't be proved or disproved at this point.

"Got any suspects yet?" she turned back to Karpowski.

"Just started the prelim," the woman admitted. "Cleaning lady worked last night just after close, place empty. He was found this morning by staff opening up."

"Security footage?" Castle was the one to ask.

"Foyer camera has been broken for a few months," Karpowski sounded annoyed, "Going to see if the other cameras caught anything. So… you make my guy for your killer?"

"No," Kate replied after a second to think about it. "He was surprised when we mentioned Peritti was dead. However, I thought he might be involved in whatever Peritti was doing."

"And what was Peritti up to?"

"Swinging the lead," Castle answered, "taking a caulk, hornswaggling the coxswain…"

Everyone in hearing distance paused and just stared at the writer.

He smiled sheepishly, "Swabbing the poop deck?"

"Okay," Karpowski held out the vowel, "what's with the pirate talk?"

"Castle here," the brunette sighed, "thinks Peritti may have been a modern day pirate."

"Or killed by one," he corrected.

"Pirates, seriously?" it was easy to see that the other detective was trying not to snicker.

There was a clank and all heads turned to where a flask had fallen from the dead man's coat as Perlmutter and assistant moved the man onto the body bag. Picking it up, the M.E. popped the top and gave it a sniff.

"Alcohol," the man answered their unspoken question.

"_Yo ho ho…_" Castle sang, "_and a bottle of rum_."


	3. Act II

**ACT TWO**

"…_cause we're the pirates who don't do anything, we just stay at home and lay around, and if you ask us to do anything, we'll just tell you, we don't do anything…"_ Castle sung to himself as he went through Peritti's papers, stacking them into neat piles.

Getting to the bottom of his stack and end of the song he picked up the pace and the volume, forgetting he was in a police station, _"…and I've never licked a spark plug, and I've never sniffed a stinkbug, and I've never painted daises on a big red rubber ball, and I've never bathed in yogurt and I don't look good in leggings…" _he ended on a crescendo, his arms out in dramatic pose.

"Ahem?" the voice was heard behind him and he turned to see Beckett standing in the doorway of the conference room.

"…_and I've never been to Boston in the fall…_" he finished with a flourish.

"You know," the brunette gazed slightly bemused and confused at him. "I pretty sure you've done at least three of those things."

"You'll never know…" he dropped his voice into a manlier, seductive tone, "but I want to state for the record that I look very, very good… in leggings."

"I never doubted," she smiled with tight lips, trying to hold back a laugh. "What was that song from anyway?"

"Veggie Tales," Castle informed her with a grin at her amusement, "it's amazing things you have to watch when you have a kid in the house."

"Well," she nodded in sympathy, "I'm sure Alexis copes."

"Yeah," he smiled at fond memories, then blinked, "hey!"

"What do you got here?" Beckett interrupted as she picked up one of the stacks he had made.

"Timeline," the writer started to proudly point out the piles, "some of these papers have date stamps when printed off the net, accessed or requested, and it seems our victim was researching the _Andrea Doria_ first, then changed course and went after the _Washington Irving_ about a year ago."

She nodded in approval, "And the _Fitzgerald_?"

"Researched it for about a two month spread," Castle picked up one of the smaller piles, "about six months ago."

"And that pile?" the detective asked of the large stack at the end of the table.

"No time stamps," he frowned.

"So he originally started his thesis on the _Andrea Doria_," Beckett said thoughtfully, "but changing your thesis isn't suspicious in its self."

"He seems to have done it here," the writer pointed to a large stack. "Nothing is dated for about a month, then nothing but _Irving._"

"Peritti is only guilty of not keeping his advisor up to date then," she sighed, "and now we've run out of leads and back to square one."

"I still think it's off," Castle sat down, starting to thumb through some random papers. "I've read the write up he did for the _Andrea Doria_ and some of his previous papers and he knew what he was doing, but this all speaks otherwise."

"Life isn't a novel, Castle," his friend replied gently, "it's not always that neat and tidy. That's why we have a whole storage area for cold cases."

He looked up at her sharply, "We've never had to put a case in there, not going to start now."

Beckett opened her mouth to say something, but paused, smiling softly with a nod of her head. "Then we start from the beginning."

"Right," Castle smiled broadly, taking a deep breath, trying to get serious, or at least as close as he could. "He lets his killer in, so he knew them."

"Ryan and Esposito spoke to his friends," the detective leaned back against the table, "they all went to Atlantic City without him, alibis check out."

That gave him slight pause, "Why didn't he go with them?"

"He said he had work to do, but they think he was making a polite excuse because he was broke like most college kids," her voice trailed off a bit, "we looked into money as a motive, no unusual bank transfers, purchases. None of the usual indicators."

"Hmm," he already knew they had exhausted many of the usual motives, "could it have been an accident?"

"Accidently shot himself?" the words were almost incredible.

"Someone accidently shot him," he explained, "then panicked instead of calling the police."

"Possible," she sighed, "Why do some people believe it's better to run rather than admit to a mistake?"

"Fight or flight," the writer shrugged, "natural instinct."

"You think though," she crossed her arms, "with all those cop shows and detective novels out there they would learn something."

"Yeah," he held out the vowel, trying to figure out what else they had missed. "What about Pendelcote?"

"Confirmed killed with an oar, well, technically a paddle according to Perlmutter," she filled in him. "Looks like a crime of opportunity. Karpowski likes the ex-wife, motive and dodgy alibi."

Now there was a thought, "Did the ex know Peritti?"

"Karpowski beat you to it," the detective almost laughed, "the ex has been in Oklahoma for the past five years, only flew back up a couple of days ago to discuss alimony payments, or lack thereof, can't connect her to Peritti."

"Do we really think Pendelcote's death was a coincidence then?" Castle frowned.

Beckett patted him gently on the shoulder, her hand not dropping away, "Seems like a strong possibility."

"You know," he leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand, "if this was one of those shows or books, the needed clue would magically appear about now."

"But this isn't," she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, and he turned his eyes to meet hers, and in them an acknowledgment of the friendship they shared, "you can't always expect clues to walk through the door—"

"Who's the man!" Ryan burst through the door of the conference room, startling them both.

"Yeah, yeah," Esposito followed in behind him.

"Guess who was right all along," Ryan rubbed his hands together, an eager grin on his face.

"George Orwell?" was Beckett's sarcastic reply.

"Edgar Cayce?" said Castle and this caused the room to pause, something he seemed to have a natural talent at. "What?"

"Anyway," Ryan waved his hands, "it was of course _I_ who was right."

"Right about what?" Beckett asked.

"Go ahead," the man gestured to his partner, almost giddy, "show them."

With a sigh and roll of his eyes, Esposito passed over a folder, "We found the dealer who sold the musketoon and it was a credit card purchase, got a name."

"Hah! Musketoon!"

"He was sure it was a musketoon," Castle couldn't help himself, "and wasn't confusing a blunderbuss for one?"

"Ah," the detective blinked a couple of time, tried to say something, but was completely lost for words and pouted slightly.

"Castle," Beckett leaned the file down so he could read, "that name look familiar to you?"

It only took him a second, "Ketter, that was Peritti's old advisor."

"Ketter is dead though, right?" Esposito asked.

"About a year ago," Castle said the words as much to himself as out loud as he shifted the piles he had made.

"Explains where Peritti got the musketoon," Beckett continued the thought. "Ketter could have given it to him or he somehow took it when he died."

"That's interesting…"

"What is, Castle?" she asked him.

"Ketter died about a year ago," he held up a stack of the papers, "and about a year ago Peritti changed his research to the _Irving_."

She thought that over, "Doesn't mean it's related."

"Doesn't mean it's not," he pointed out.

"If this pans out," the woman crossed her arms, "you're going to be insufferable, aren't you."

"Yeah," he smiled, "most likely."

""""

After a knock on the door of the modest home, a young woman answered. "How can I help you?"

"Detective Beckett," his partner held out her badge, "we would like to speak to Gwen Ketter."

"That's my grandmother," the woman opened the door and gestured for them to come in. "I'll get her."

They were left to wait in the living room, Castle doing his usual nosing around, he liked to look and see how people lived. No two houses were ever alike, and the clues they left to their hobbies or true personalities could be fascinating. This was the home of a naval history fan with many portholes, anchors, signs, and other things he had no idea what they did hung up on the wall.

Staring down at the silver platter with whiskey glasses and decanters, there was a bottle of Captain Morgan's, pretty much empty.

"Kate," he picked the bottle up to show her, "why is the rum always gone?"

She didn't dignify that with a response, instead turned to the approaching older lady, graying hair up in a bun, aged features, but who looked very familiar.

"You work at the Maritime Industry Museum," Beckett said and it clicked into place for Castle. This was the lady at the information desk when they came to see Pendelcote.

"Yes," Gwen frowned, "is this about David's death. I already spoke to that other detective, ker-pow something?"

He was going to have to remember that one.

"Actually," Beckett gestured for the lady to have a seat, "we're here about your husband."

"Harold?" she sat down, her granddaughter next to her. "Oh, this is Sophia, she came to stay with me, it's been a troublesome year."

"First my grandfather dies," Sophia spoke up, "now her boss."

"Did Mr Ketter and Mr Pendelcote know each other?" the detective asked as she sat across from them.

"Yes," a small smile formed on the elder woman's face, "they were in the Navy together. That's why David gave me the job at the Museum after Harold died. It keeps me busy and connected to Harold. He loved his ships."

"He died in a boating accident, off Cape Cod?" Beckett asked, the request to the local police was being processed for the report but so far it hadn't came through.

"Harold went there every year, to fish," she got a far away look. "But he was getting older, not as spry as he used to be."

"The main sail wasn't rigged right," Sophia finished for her grandmother, "it caught and hit him hard in the chest, caused some kind of cardiac arrest."

"That young man tried to give him CPR," Gwen was able to continue, "but his heart just couldn't take it."

"Young man?" Castle managed to get out before his partner did.

"Yes," she furrowed her brow, trying to remember, "one of his students but I forget his name."

"Joshua Peritti?" Beckett offered.

"Josh," Gwen seemed more sure, "sounds about right. I saw him at the funeral. He wanted forgiveness for not being able to save Harold. I told him that he tried, and that's all anyone can ask."

"Didn't try hard enough," Sophia said bitterly.

"I know you adored your grandfather, Sophia," Gwen patted the woman's hand, "but it was his time to go, when you get to my age, you'll understand that."

"Do," Beckett started to fiddle through the black zipped folder she often carried and pulled out a photo, "you know what happened to this item?"

Gwen held it out at a distance, squinting her eyes a bit, "I'm not sure what it is."

"Some kind of shotgun?" Sophia shrugged.

"I've never seen it before," the older lady finally decided.

"Your husband bought it a few months before he died," Beckett informed.

"I'm sorry," she passed the photo back, "he often bought naval memorabilia, it would end up here, at his office, his boat."

So that meant the musketoon could have been picked up Peritti at any point, gift or no. Castle glanced up and his eyes happened to fall onto a photo perched on the wall that was also very familiar, a bit of that going around at the moment.

"The _Washington Irving_," Castle said as he walked over to the black and white image of the passenger liner before it was hit by the oil barge that sent it to the bottom of the Hudson.

"Yes," Gwen smiled again, "one of my husband's obsessions."

"Your husband was obsessed with the ship?" Beckett's tone was as surprised as he felt.

"He had this idea," she continued, "you see, he believed when it sank it had a secret cache of gold bars from Albany, destined for a steamer to take it down to Washington DC, to the US Mint."

Castle had read through much of the research from Peritti's place and even though it was mostly basic stuff, there was enough in depth information to know that, "There was no mention of that in its history."

"I know," the older lady sighed, "it was his white whale. No one believed him and his only information was from a journal of a man who passed away in the '60s who was a cabin steward on the _Irving_."

"That's a bit flimsy evidence," Beckett replied in the non-judgmental way she was good at.

"There was difficulty raising the ship and getting it salvaged," Gwen shrugged, "but that didn't prove anything either. Harold was obsessed that the gold was either stolen when it was salvaged, or still lying at the bottom of the Hudson, on top of the Holland Tunnel."

The writer heard something in those words, "Did Pendelcote know about your husband's obsession?"

She nodded, "The only one who didn't think him a complete crack pot to consider such a thing."

"And he knew that Peritti had been looking into it," Beckett said what he was thinking. "They were probably researching it together."

He let himself smile, he was going to indeed be insufferable after this, "And they had another partner."

"Our killer."

""""

"Esposito," Beckett marched into the squad room with purpose, they had new leads, they were going to follow them and she was going to ignore Castle. "Has the incident report from Ketter's accident come in yet?"

"Ah," the man grabbed a manila folder off his desk, "yes, the police report. Still waiting on the Coast Guard's report."

"I still say it's pirates," Castle walked in behind her, "I mean, sunken gold, musketoon, high-seas chicanery."

"I wouldn't call the Hudson the high-seas," she mumbled as she read through the accident report. Two witnesses and she knew them both. Handing the file over to her partner, "Luck of the draw, huh?"

She watched as the writer read the information, seeing the grin that would form on his face as he came to a conclusion. As silly as he could be, he was extremely bright, and she always respected how he could marry the two personalities together.

"I think we owe someone a visit," he grinned.

""""

When they got to Professor Dobins' office, it was suppose to be his study hour, but the door was locked.

"Looking for Dobins?" a woman called from the other side of the hallway, a quick glance around the office showed her to also be a history teacher, though more Medieval in nature.

"You know where he went?" Beckett asked, flashing her police badge.

"Indefinite lunch?" the historian replied annoyed and began to ramble, "left at noon, hasn't come back, and I had to take care of his one o'clock and cancel the classes for him and act like his bloody secretary for every whiney student trying to get a hold of him."

"Ah, thank you," the detective replied, taking out her phone.

As she moved off, Castle asked the lady, "Did he take anything with him, any big objects?"

She shrugged, "Just his laptop bag I saw but I wasn't really looking."

"Ever see him with a blunderbuss?" the writer decided to ask.

The teacher stared blankly at him for a moment, "Are you high?"

Beckett grabbed his sleeve and pulled him to the side, "BOLO is out on Dobins, not sure we have enough yet for a warrant."

"Want in his office?" the professor stuck her head out in the hall.

"That would be nice," Beckett said slowly.

The woman flashed a key and walked over to the door, "Serves him right for skipping out and leaving me to do everything."

With a click the door popped open and the teacher stood to the side and waved them in.

"Until we know where we legally stand," Beckett said as she walked forward, "only what's in plain sight."

"Of course," he replied but as they walked into the small room he raised his eyebrows at the mess, various papers, files, books, photos, strewn about the place. "Looks like he tore out of here in a hurry."

Beckett squatted down next to a folder that had fallen just inside the door, its contents spread about, one of them a photo of the _Irving_, "And looks like he knew more about Peritti's research than he let on."

The evidence was there, but still, "You think he would be capable of murder?"

"He deals with whiney students all day," the teacher said behind him, "trust me, we'll all capable."


	4. Act III

Disclaimer: I am from a land-locked area, I know nothing of boats, please excuse any minor mistakes. If I made any huge mistakes then a polite correction would be appreciated.

**ACT THREE**

"You seriously didn't make him do the _Truffle Shuffle_?" the writer was just about to take his customary seat at his partner's desk when her words gave him pause.

She shrugged, continuing to type, "Hey, he had it coming."

"Why, Detective Beckett," Castle grinned as he sat, "childish pranks from cult classics while at the police academy no less. I may have to think of you in a different light."

"And what light would that be?" Beckett said with disinterest.

"Mauve… or maybe a burnt yellow," he eyed her carefully, then a thought occurred to him, "but wait, wouldn't making a guy pull his shirt up and jiggle around at the police academy constitute sexual harassment?"

"Maybe," she refused to meet his gaze, "but I've a known a few men to take their shirts off and jiggle around… and it definitely wasn't harassment."

There was a moment between them were she held her composure but he could see her fighting it, her head not moving but her eyes darting over to catch his reaction. It was these times he wasn't sure if she was serious or just had a wicked sense of humor, or both. So many layers to his muse, he was afraid he could keep peeling them back for a lifetime and never get to the core.

"Well," Esposito and his partner walked up, "that was a bust."

"Nothing at Dobins apartment?" Beckett replied.

"No information on the _Irving_," the man sighed, "no trace of the victim's laptop, or any evidence of a blunderbuss."

"Musketoon," Ryan corrected.

"Seriously?" Esposito was exasperated, "You're going to keep going on about that?"

"How'd the bathroom look?" Beckett interrupted them.

"Toothbrush, razor, no signs of packing," the man's attention turned back to her, "and no signs that he'd been there since he went to work."

"No mad dash to make a get away," Castle thought outloud, "so either he found the gold and is trying to make his way to a non-extradite country and didn't have time to pack or maybe he doesn't realize we're on to him and maybe he'll be back."

Ryan nodded, "We put a uniform on the apartment, in case he does."

"And the BOLO in case he doesn't," Beckett added.

""""

"I played a pirate once," Martha was pouring a drink as Castle sat on the sofa, legs propped up, feet resting on the coffee table and a laptop at his fingertips.

"I don't remember that," he commented, honestly not being able to recall.

"Oh, well," he swanned over with her glass of wine, leaning against the back of the sofa, "it was a bar maid actually, it was an off-off Broadway production by the next Gilbert and Sullivan… or at least he liked to think so."

He wracked his memory, "Still got nothing."

"You know, you remember," she prompted him, "I was the pirate captain's love interest who was deathly afraid of water?"

Castle just shook his head.

"Well, that's a shame," her shoulders slumped in dismay, "for all it was lacking it had some of the best costumes, had this corset that was ten times more effective than a wonder bra I tell you."

As his mother began to explain exactly how that could be possible, the writer threw up his hands to stop her, "You know, I think I'm remembering why I forgot."

He was saved any further embarrassment thanks to his daughter bounding down the stairs.

"I found it," Alexis shouted excitedly.

"That's great," he replied with equal fervor, then took a breath, "what did you find?"

"My copy of _Muppet's Treasure Island_," she held up the dvd case proudly. "I haven't watched it in ages."

"Arr, me-hearty" he folded his laptop, "you set it up and I'll get the popcorn."

She nodded and headed towards the DVD player while Castle made for the kitchen.

"Alexis, honey," Martha moved to take her son's seat on the sofa, "did I tell you I once played a pirate?"

"No, grandma," she answered as she punched buttons on the system.

"Ah, ah, ah," Castle leaned out over the kitchen island, "I declare no more speak of pirates unless they are of the Muppet kind."

"Dad," Alexis held up the DVD, the silvery surface covered in deep scratches, "now I remember why I stopped watching it."

""""

"Alright, thank you," Beckett was hanging up the phone when Castle sat down in the chair next to the desk, a plastic bag from an electronics store in his hand.

"I know, I'm late," he quickly said, "but I have really good excuse."

She didn't seem convinced, "And that would be?"

"I went shopping," Castle held up the bag.

"You're right, that is a really good excuse," the woman deadpanned, "if you were a fifteen year old girl."

"I'm going to ignore that slight on my manhood and I'll have you know that this," he pulled out the _Muppet's_ movie, "is one of Alexis' childhood favorites. But we discovered our copy was severely damaged and in need of replacing."

This got the other two detective's attention, Esposito asking the obvious, "Why didn't you just get it 'on demand'."

"Are you kidding?" the writer laughed, "The amount of times she's going to watch it, trust me, this option is cheaper."

"What else you got in there?" Ryan was the one to ask, eyeing the bag.

"Oh," he started to pull out a stack of four DVD's, "there was a sale, I just couldn't help myself."

Beckett grinned, "Not a fifteen year old girl, huh?"

"Hey, _The Princess and the Pirate_" Ryan blurted out with his somewhat dopey grin, "love that film."

"It's for my mother," Castle wanted to make everyone sure they knew that.

"_Ice Pirates_," Beckett snatched the next dvd from his hand, "now that brings back memories."

"You'll have to tell me," was his response, "and in lurid detail."

"In your dreams, Castle," she continued to peruse the back cover.

"I'm sure," he grinned, but then held up the next dvd, "who can forget _Time Bandits_?"

"Does that count as a pirate movie?" Esposito asked.

This made Castle pause for a second, "It has a pirate ship on the cover, let's move on. Now, the pièce de résistance: _The Princess Bride_."

"Now _that_ is a pirate movie," the man agreed, slipping into an accent. " 'Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.' "

" 'You seem like a decent fellow,' " Ryan added, " 'I hate to kill you.' "

" 'You seem like a decent fellow,' " Castle countered, " 'I hate to die.' "

They began to chuckle and Beckett looked between the three men like they all belonged in a loony bin. "I'm guessing I'm missing a joke here?"

"Wait," the writer's jaw literally dropped, "Kate Beckett has seen the _Goonies_ and _Ice Pirates_ but she has never seen the greatest love story of all time? Inconceivable!"

"I've seen _Titanic_," she replied, "that had a ship on the cover."

"But… it's… _The Princess Bride_," he was at a total loss of words to describe the epic nature of the film, "I mean even guys, straight guys, love this film."

"You know," she said slowly, "I think one of my girl friends might have a copy in high school, just never found the time."

"Here," he put the dvd in her hands, "I insist. Watch it."

"I will," Beckett put it down on almost the farthest reaches of her desk, "but first we have to meet Sophia Ketter."

"Meet her for what?" he asked while looking a little dismayed at her apparent lack of regard for the film.

"To let us onto her grandfather's boat," the woman stood, grabbing her jacket, "it's been on a local dock since the accident and Gwen Ketter authorized us to search it. Thought we might find some evidence there regarding the case seeing as Dobins never returned home and he hasn't been located and we're out of other leads."

"Good thinking," Castle agreed, standing to join her.

"Now," she held her hand up to stop him, "we're going to be on a boat, you're going to be tempted, but please, please refrain from the pirate commentary."

A grin formed on the man's face. "As you wish."

""""

"Well, found trace of the blunderbuss," Beckett emerged from the cabin of Ketter's boat, "some residue of rusted nails and what looks like black pow-what are you doing?"

Castle knew he was caught and stepped down from the very front of the ship where he was standing up on the rails.

"Are you trying to reenact _Titanic_?" she asked.

"What, me, no?" he laughed her off, then boyishly said, "Just… forecastle, Richard Castle… okay, maybe you had to been there."

"I probably shouldn't have said anything," Sophia Ketter admitted from her perch on top of the cabin.

"I don't even want to know," Beckett shook her head. "Like I said, I think Ketter stored the blunderbuss here on the boat."

"So Peritti or Dobins had access to it," Castle continued the thought.

The detective nodded then turned to the young woman, "How did the boat get here from Cape Cod?"

"It's a sloop, not a boat," she corrected them, "I sailed her up here, docked her, been keeping the maintenance."

"Sailed all by yourself?" the writer replied with a tint of respect.

"No, I think my grandfather was with me," a ghost of a smile touched her lips, "we did a lot of sailing when I was younger, he told me his stories and crazy theories. I wish I could have been there that day."

"Where you supposed to be?" Beckett asked.

"No," she bowed her head, "I just started at Mount Holyoke. I told him I'd try to come down more, but he said he found a new sailing partner and not to worry about it. School was more important."

"Did you see the blunderbuss?" the detective asked softly.

"I don't really spend much time down there," Sophia confessed.

Castle spoke up, "Who else has had access?"

"There was a memorial we had here after the funeral," she shook her head in thought, "my dad, grandma and me have keys to the boat. We also have the access code to the dock gate, but then people are always propping it open or not shutting it properly."

"We'll need to know who was at the memorial," Beckett replied, "see if anyone remembers seeing it."

"I don't recall who was there," Sophia admitted, "but I'm sure my grandmother has a list somewhere. I'll make sure you get it."

"Thank you," the detective glanced around the ship, turning to Castle. "Well, I think we should go before Castle starts to reenact more scenes from _Titanic_."

"I was not!"

""""

"That's annoying," Beckett had hung up her phone as Castle approached with coffee.

"What is?" he was about to take his seat but she stood, snatching a cup and moving over to the murder board.

"The dock only has the last two days worth of surveillance," she answered as she sipped the drink.

"So if anyone stole the blunderbuss recently," he felt her pain, "we wouldn't have it on tape."

"Yep," the detective picked up a stack of stapled papers from her desk, handing them over to her partner without looking. "And that is just as annoying."

He glanced over it. "Transcript?"

"Dobins covered a fellow teach as guest lecturer at a conference at last minute, he had to satellite uplink through the school's computers," she covered the highlights. "It was at eleven am the morning Peritti was killed."

"Peritti was killed before seven," Castle couldn't understand the problem.

"Eleven am… Greek Time," she corrected, "The American School of Classical Studies at Athens."

"Long name," he frowned, "but Greece is what, seven hours ahead? That still gives him a small window of opportunity."

"I know," it was her turn to frown, still staring at the murder board, the timeline, victim and suspect information scrawled across it, "but something is bothering me about it."

A smile crept up onto his face, "Your gut's turn to have a feeling?"

"Something like that," she leaned back against the desk. "We have three dead men, Ketter, Peritti and Pendlecote. Two murders, one accident."

"Are we even still sure it was an accident?" Castle threw into the mix.

"Likely," she said after a moment, "after all, the only reason to kill Ketter would be to get the supposed gold and if they did have the gold, or its location, why spend a year researching it."

"Point taken."

"We're missing something here," she leaned a bit closer to the board, "I'm just not seeing what it is."

Castle moved beside her, also resting against the desk, "You know what we have in common with those movies I brought earlier?"

"Other than an egocentric male lead?" the reply came quickly and easily from her.

"You forgot ruggedly handsome," he corrected her.

"Ah, yeah, sure," she didn't sound convenience.

"Like our dashing do-gooder's," the writer pressed on, "we always succeed and win the day."

Beckett immediately added, "And win the heart of the beautiful damsel who apparently can't save her own hide and needs the man to do it for her."

"Do I denote a touch of cynicism, Detective Beckett," he grinned at the look she was giving him, "I thought you were a romantic at heart."

She smiled sardonically, "I have my moments."

"Well, in the nature of goodwill in the battle of the sexes," he didn't let her phase him, "you can save my hide any day of the week."

"I already do, all the time," she smiled, really smiled at him but then her phone went off.

"Oh, yeah," he felt a little dejected at that realization.

"Beckett," she called into her phone, ignoring him. "Yes, I put out the BOLO on Cecil Dobins. Yeah, uh huh. Okay, be right there. Thank you."

"Located Dobins, maybe now we can get some answers," Castle was pleased.

Beckett frowned, "Maybe not."

""""

"I ain't going in there," Lanie stood with them at the edge of the pier, "this is a two hundred dollar hair cut thank you very much."

"The divers will bring up the body," Beckett sighed as they stared down at coast guard divers untangling Professor Dobin's from netting that had caught him on the very end of the fishing pier, keeping the bloating figure from washing out into the middle of Long Island Sound.

As they watched their attention shifted to only a few feet away where someone had taken a flat wooden plank and jammed it in-between the pier floor planks and cross struts.

Beckett's gaze turned back to her partner.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Go ahead," she gestured toward the object, "say it, get it out of your system."

He thought at about this for a moment, "Nah, too easy."


	5. Act IV

**ACT FOUR**

"So," Beckett stopped in front of the body of Dobins as it lay out on the morgue slab, "did he walk the plank or not?"

"Analysis shows," answered Lanie as she pulled the sheet back over the corpse, "that he was in the water for about two days."

"He was killed sometime just after he left his office," Castle added it up.

Lanie nodded, "I sent the water in his lungs out for more tests, see if we can find out where it was he fell in."

"Fell in?" Beckett asked.

"Minor signs that could indicate a struggle," the petite coroner continued, "nothing that would have knocked him out, but he did fall into the water at speed," she pulled from under the sheet one of the man's arms which had red whelps and bruises. "The pattern suggests a type of water burn, like road rash, and it occurred not long before death."

"So he's on a speed boat," Becket caught on, "falls or is pushed in, then drowns."

"Accident or murder?" the writer mused.

"Could go either way, he could have struggled or tripped," Lanie apologized, "sorry."

"Dobins leaves at lunchtime with presumably Peritti's laptop," Beckett stares at the covered body, trying to sort the mess out in her head, "he then gets on a speed boat and falls into the water and drowns."

"Another partner?" Castle voiced what she was thinking, he did have a talent for that.

"Peritti, Pendlecote, Dobins and one other," she agrees. "Maybe he takes out Dobins before Dobins could take out him."

"Or maybe the fourth man took out all of them," was the other logical conclusion.

"But why?" that was always the number one question, even if you had someone confess, you had to know why they did it. "There is no evidence anywhere of the supposed gold, no changes to habits or movements by the group, not until Peritti died."

"It's like a domino effect," Castle sighed. "Maybe Peritti finally discovered where the treasure was, told the fourth man and he didn't want to share."

"Possibly," she replied after consideration, "If it is sunk, the fourth man is going to have problems getting to it. But if it's not sunk… it could just be a matter of putting it in the back of a van."

"Hhmm," the writer rubbed his chin, "Mutiny, buried treasure, assorted nautical murder weapons… maybe I should try writing historical fiction."

She was saved coming up with a snappy come back by her phone ringing, "Beckett."

"Hey," Esposito came over the line, "we found the murder weapon."

"The blunderbuss?" she asked.

"Nah," he replied, "the other one."

"The musketoon?"

"Uh, no," he paused, "the other weapon. The paddle that killed Pendlecote."

"""

As they walked into the station room, Esposito and Ryan were sitting at their desks, the latter shaking his head, "No, they totally debunked that on _Mythbusters_."

"Debunked what?" he asked the detective.

"Hey, Castle," Esposito greeted before explaining, "we were talking about that scene where Sloth mimics that old pirate movie and uses a knife to slide down a sail."

"Classic scene from _The Goonies_," the writer approved. "'Hey You Guys!'"

"As much as I like to see Castle make a fool of himself in the middle of the station house," Beckett jibbed with a grin, "you said you found the paddle?"

"Actually," another voice broke in and Castle turned to see Detective Karpowski approach from the vending machines, "I found it."

"Good work," Beckett nodded to the woman.

"Don't thank me yet," she picked up a file from Esposito's desk, "The paddle had prints, they go back to Pendlecote and Dobins."

"So Dobins did kill Pendlecote," Castle spoke up then mentally chided himself, correcting, "well, he got rid of the murder weapon at least."

"That's all this proves," his partner sighed, taking the file from the woman, "though Dobins does have a good motive."

"I've worked every other angle I can think of," Karpowski shrugged and crossed her arms, "but nothing gives. A security camera puts Dobins in the area around time of death, and unless he was working with this mysterious fourth man I heard you're trying to locate, I like Dobins for the murder of David Pendlecote."

Castle let the wheels spin in his head, but came up with the same conclusions. With so many dead bodies, playing pirate just didn't seem as much fun anymore.

"Right," Beckett was the first to give, "thanks Roselyn, if we find anything we'll let you know."

"Appreciated," the other detective nodded before taking her leave.

"Hey, Roselyn," Castle quickly asked, "you seen _The Princess Bride_?"

"Rodents of Unusual Size, they exist," she shot back seriously, "they infested my last apartment on the corner of The Pit of Despair and Brooklyn."

The three men shared a laugh as the other detective walked away.

Turning his attention back to his partner, he watched as she wandered over to the murder board. Esposito and Ryan started to talk about shooting steak knives out of canons and as interesting as the conversation was, he knew this case was getting to Beckett as much as it was getting to him. With every dead body they found, the farther they seemed to get from the truth.

"So let's assume," Beckett said without turning to look at him, "that Dobins did kill Pendlecote."

"Good assumption," he could safely agree.

"But Dobins had a good alibi for Peritti's death," she leaned back against her desk, arms crossed, eyes focused. He liked her with she got like this, it was as if he was seeing the real Beckett, nothing to clutter or distract, just a brilliant woman putting together the pieces of a puzzle. "I'm almost positive Pendlecote didn't kill Peritti either."

He followed her train of thought, "The fourth man."

"Yeah," she glanced at him, "fourth man takes out Peritti. Dobins then confronts Pendlecote, maybe thinking he did killed Peritti? Or maybe Pendlecote asks Dobins to meet him, thinking Dobins killed Peritti."

"Either way," Castle frowned, "ends with Pendlecote getting the wrong end of the stick… or the paddle in this case."

"Could be a pack," the woman tapped her finger against her lip, "Dobins takes out Pendlecote, fourth man gets Peritti."

"Then fourth man double crosses Dobins," he adds. "I should really tell Patterson about this case, he'd love it."

There was a slight distraction as Esposito and Ryan made explosion noises, flailing comically with their hands.

Beckett sighed but there was a twist in her lip that told of how much she appreciated the comic relief. "The fourth man is the key. If we can find him, alive, then we can find out who killed who and the motives will fall into place."

"Three deaths for a treasure that might not even exist," it made no more sense now than the first time that thought had occurred to him.

"Sadly," his partner met his eyes, "I've seen far worse for far less."

"Castle," Ryan called over to him, "you watch _Mythbuster_'s, right?"

"Yes," he turned towards the man, "and I have several kitchen appliances that have suffered greatly because of it."

"Did you watch the episode," the man blissfully ignored the comment and carried on, "where they were debunking _Pirates of the Caribbean _myths? Specifically the one about walking underwater with a boat as a dive helmet?"

"Yes," he quickly added, "and it was busted. Clever editing."

"See," Esposito chimed in, "told you. Ain't no way two people can do that."

"Aww," Ryan sunk in his seat, "I thought it was pretty cool. MacGyver style diving."

"Dude," Esposito laughed, "MacGyver would just make a sail boat out of duct tape to get the pirate ship, confirmed."

Castle realized that there was something they were missing. Something that had bothered him before, but it didn't seem important at the time…

"Well," Beckett broke into his thoughts, "we can start re-interviewing everyone attached with the case. See who has a connection."

"Good idea," it clicked and a knowing smile crept across his face, "and I know who we can start with."

"""

"You said you had new information regarding Josh's death?" the suspect asked as Beckett gestured him into the interrogation room.

"Have a seat, Mr Johnson," the detective gestured for the man to sit, Castle and her taking chairs across the table. "We just need to ask you a few more questions. You're free to go whenever you want."

"Sure, okay," he glanced around nervously and both could already tell that they were on the right track.

"You own a speed boat," Beckett asked almost casually, "keep her at _SoundWaves Docks & Storage_?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, "a lot of people have their boats there."

"Including Harold Ketter's boat," Castle added.

The man glanced away quickly.

"Come on, Dominic," Beckett leaned in a bit closer, "tell us what you know, lying or denying will only hurt you."

"It was an accident," the man blurted out. "I didn't mean for it to happen!"

"Didn't mean for what to happen," she prompted, needing him to confess but not put words in his mouth.

"Professor Dobins," Johnson rocked slightly, "he called me, he was _so_ angry. Kept going on about David and how the cops were going to figure it out. I told him to fess up, but he wouldn't listen."

"Why were you on the speed boat," her tone was non-judgmental, she needed to keep him talking.

"I wanted to scare him," the man confessed, "get him to turn himself in."

"Then what happened," she prompted him again.

"He tried to take the wheel," he lowered his head into his hands, "I only meant to knock him to the deck, not overboard."

As the man began to almost cry, Castle softly asked, "Why didn't you go back for him?"

"I did," Johnson swallowed hard, "I did, I just couldn't find him again."

"Did he say why he killed Pendlecote?" Beckett took the initiative as he was being so helpful.

"He claimed self-defense," Johnson literally sunk into the chair, a more pitiful human being if one ever did see. "They got into a fight over Josh's research. David had been holding on to it. Dobin's was still clutching that stupid laptop when he fell overboard."

"So," Castle edged in, "Dobins killed Joshua for his research but it was Pendlecote that had it?"

Johnson stiffened, slowly raising his head, the sorrow of his deed being pushed aside and cold dark anger taking its place. "Dobins killed Josh? That son of a bitch!"

"""

"Poetic irony?" Castle mused as they got an espresso. What was it about interrogations that drained the interrogator as much as the interrogated?

"If I was Dobins I wouldn't have told Johnson that I killed his brother-in-law," Beckett considered.

"You think he was telling the truth then, that he didn't know?" the writer asked.

After a moment, she said, "Yeah, if he had known I'm pretty sure we would never have found the body, in one piece at least. But that's for the counsel to argue and jury to decide."

Castle sipped his drink, "Dobins kills Peritti and Pendlecote for the research which Johnson accidently sends to Davy Jones' locker along with Dobins. Case closed."

"Case closed," she said it about as convincingly as he did.

"Hey," Esposito walked through the door, holding a file in his hands. "Know it's a bit late, but the Coast Guard's report on Ketter's boating accident finally came in."

"Thanks," Beckett sat her drink down and started to glance through it.

"I was wondering," the man moved to make his own coffee, "how did you know it was the brother-in-law?"

"Castle had a hunch," she answered.

"Well," the writer didn't like to sing his own praises, oh, who was he kidding, "you reminded me of what Johnson said, that Peritti couldn't dive, complications from the bends."

"Ah," the man caught on as he poured his drink, "and if you're going after sunken treasure, you need an experienced diver."

"Exactly, which Johnson is," Castle nodded, "and after a quick check it wasn't hard to find out that his boat was a speed boat and he grew up on Lake Superior."

"What does Lake Superior have to do with it?" Esposito asked, the momentum stalled.

"That's where the _Fitzgerald_ went down," Castle explained. "Peritti looked it up for his brother-in-law so he knew there would be records. Johnson didn't want to admit knowing about the _Irving_."

"Dobins kills Peritti and Pendlecote, and then Johnson kills Dobins," the detective smiled, "myth confirmed."

"Myth confirmed," Castle begrudgingly agreed.

"Myth plausible," Beckett mumbled, still reading the Coast Guard's report.

"Why?" the writer gave her his complete attention. "What did you figure out?"

"That you shouldn't mix your themes and metaphors," she turned a page of the report, "and that the Coast Guard did a better job investigating Harold Ketter's death than the cops did."

"Then Dobins isn't our killer?" he tried to peak at the report.

"No, Dobins killed Pendlecote alright," she chewed her lip, then glanced up at him, "and Johnson knocked Dobins off the boat."

"What about Peritti?" he asked as she handed over the file to let him read it himself. It only took a moment for him to grasp the same realization she had and he frowned, "I guess dead men do tell tales."


End file.
